Nothing's Changed at All
by ElsBells
Summary: In the snow, we hurt ourselves. For Faberry Week Day Seven: Snowed In.


**Nothing's Changed at All**

Rachel sighs and collapses onto the rug, sprawled on her stomach. She's exhausted, knees and palms rubbed raw and black and blue from the hardwood floor. She can hear small toddler shrieks coming from the hallway, getting louder and louder, and she sighs and steels herself and stares at the swirling snowfall outside.

Benjamin cries, "Mama!" as he bumbles into the room.

Quinn's chasing after him, slipping along in wooly socks and sweatpants, and he heads straight for Rachel and plops solidly onto her back, knocks his knees into her ribs.

"She's coming!" He yells, thumping small hands against Rachel's shoulders to get her to move.

Rachel lifts up to her hands and knees with a groan.

Benjamin wobbles precariously on her back and demands, "Go, mama!"

Rachel glances behind her—red-faced and winded—and finds that Quinn has slowed to give her time to move. She's lingering in the doorway, watching Rachel's ass and smiling fondly. Rachel crawls forward, decides her knees will go numb soon.

"Faster, mama!" Benjamin says, and Rachel tumbles clumsily along, refusing to leave the rug.

She manages, "Your horsey's tired, Benji."

"No, you're a reindeer."

Rachel slows to a stilted plod. "Oh, that's right."

Quinn scurries up behind her, bent at the waist to sweep Benjamin away, and Rachel's grateful for the split second before something pops in her back, sends pain shooting up her spine and radiating outward. She makes a strangled noise and tips forward, and Benjamin rolls off onto the rug laughing loudly.

It's comical, the three of them clumped together like that in various states of distress.

Quinn stills for a moment, seizes Benjamin under his arms and swings him up onto the couch. She crouches by Rachel, rests a gentle hand on her back and scans her body for obvious signs of injury.

"Rachel?"

Rachel's forehead is pressed into the rug, her butt still in the air, and she looks like a fool but she feels like she can't move.

Quinn tilts forward to catch her gaze, asks, "Are you alright, baby?"

"My back." Rachel says tightly, and it makes her feel like a seventy-year-old man.

Quinn's face is clouded with worry. She's make-up free and her hair is unbrushed and she's ridiculous in a jolly red Christmas sweater that matches her socks. She puts a hand on Rachel's side and says, "Should I call somebody?"

She sounds so grave that Rachel wants to laugh.

"Just help me to the couch, please," she requests instead.

Benjamin watches them with wide eyes, scoots towards the edge of the cushion with a stuffed dog under his arm. "You okay, mama?"

Rachel's eyes bulge out when she twists to smile up at him. She says, "I'm just fine, sweetheart," and he looks skeptical.

Quinn retrieves a pillow and blankets and builds a nest for Rachel at the other end of the couch. She kneels beside her wife and wonders, "How do we do this?"

The pain is dulling and fading, and it gives Rachel the confidence to say, "I can do it. Just help me a little bit."

Quinn is doubtful, and she stands by as Rachel finally moves, shifts in tiny increments to climb up onto the couch. There's a definite throbbing in her lower back—maybe something slipped or herniated or misplaced or vanished—and Rachel is almost fully on the couch, half on her back, half on her side, when it intensifies.

Rachel hisses, stills, and decides that this spot is fine.

"One more foot, baby," Quinn says softly, dragging Rachel's other leg up onto the cushion.

"What are you doin,' mommy?" Benjamin asks. He's watching them absently, slumped back and exhausted on his end of the couch, cheerful in smiling reindeer pajamas.

"I'm taking care of mama," Quinn whispers loudly. She strokes dark hair out of Rachel's face, tips down and kisses Rachel's cheek, smiles when she says, "She's kind of a mess, sometimes."

Rachel whimpers pathetically and Quinn rubs her arm over the blanket, makes sure she's warm.

She says, "I'm taking you to the hospital, honey."

Rachel smiles wryly. She's twisted up at odd angles, tangled and on top of herself, but she can see the window. "I don't think so."

Quinn glances away, eyes the thick flurry of white.

Rachel smiles at her profile, at the stubborn, determined set of her jaw. She pulls on Quinn's sweater and hugs her wife's arm to her chest, snuggles into it.

Quinn looks down at her and decides, "I can handle it."

…..

The roads are plowed and the front door of their cozy brownstone isn't snowed shut, so Quinn realizes that the major task will be clearing the heavy layer of snow that's settled on top of the car, starting it up and getting it moving.

She puts on a coat and scarf, boots and gloves and one of Rachel's wooly hats, makes sure Benjamin's settled with his toy trains in the living room and Rachel's nearly asleep with her hot cocoa, still tangled up and pained.

Quinn kisses her forehead and Rachel mumbles, "Be careful," and tugs at blonde hair peeking out from her hat.

Quinn smiles and says, "Don't move, baby."

She retrieves the snow scraper from the closet and heads out the front door, eyes the layer of snow obscuring the steps and then jars her back a bit when she misjudges where the first one is. The snow is up past her ankles, and she clings to the rail and shuffles carefully down the other two steps.

Her nose is numb already, her cheeks bright red. She stomps to the curb and brings the scraper up to start pushing at the broad layer on the roof of the car. She's breathing heavily by the time she moves to the windshield, the hood, the lights, but the dark grey of the hatchback is gradually coming into view so Quinn keeps working.

She realizes she'll need a shovel to pull the car away from the curb, so she heads back up the path, steps in the same foot-holes as before, wipes an arm clumsily across her red nose to stop it running. Her eyes are blurred a bit and she forgets to seize the handrail, mutters "_Shit_," as she slips on the layer of ice hidden by the snow on the top step and tips backwards.

There's nothing she can do about it, and her arm is jammed into the handrail while her tailbone meets the concrete angle of the steps, slides backwards so that her head's in the snow and her body is shaken up, tangled in a heap.

She's dazed for a moment, frightened that she won't be able to move her legs, she'll need back surgery again, she's re-injured her spine.

But then she shifts and wiggles her toes in her boots, sees her legs move and pulls herself into a sitting position. It's incredibly painful and her tailbone is definitely bruised, the rest of her back as sketchy as ever.

She stands up, abandons the snow scraper wherever she'd flung it—she's given up on that endeavor—and hobbles up the steps and through the front door. She pries off her boots, her coat, scarf, gloves, and hat and walks haltingly into the living room, slouched and clutching her lower back.

Rachel's eyes widen immediately. She says, "Oh my God," and grimaces when she attempts to sit up, examines Quinn's pitiful appearance—her ruffled hair and runny nose, red cheeks and stiff walk.

"I'm okay." Quinn assures breathlessly.

Rachel blinks, eyes still tracing over her body. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Quinn shrugs vaguely, shuffles over to sit on the floor in front of the couch, but Rachel grips her thigh before she can lower herself down.

"Did you fall? Is it your back?" she asks, and her brown eyes shine with concern. She drags her hand up to Quinn's hip, tugs on the pocket of her sweatpants demanding an answer.

Quinn slowly crouches in front of the couch, says, "I slipped on some ice, baby. I'm fine."

Rachel holds her chin and searches her face for any sign that she's not being entirely truthful. Quinn holds her gaze, sniffles loudly, and it's exaggerated and pathetic and it makes Rachel smile and look around for a tissue.

"You have to be careful," she says, patting down Quinn's hair, "You know how fragile your back is."

Quinn nods indulgently, hums, "Yes, Rachel."

"I'm serious." Rachel catches her gaze, and she's pulling her _I'm-your-wife-so-you-better-listen-to-me-face_, and Quinn smiles a bit and nods.

She says, "Trust me, honey. I'm aware how messed up my back is."

Rachel is saddened for a moment, and she keeps patting Quinn's hair down, dragging her thumb over Quinn's red nose and cheeks and chapped lips, and Quinn tilts forward and nuzzles into her neck before slipping down to sit on the floor in front of the couch.

She grimaces at the pain, and Rachel watches her and requests, "Take your pants off, baby. Let me see."

She's smiling just a little bit, and Quinn can tell she's only half joking. Quinn shakes her head, says, "Don't think so," and Rachel sighs and drags a hand through her blonde hair.

"Take your top off, then."

Quinn chuckles, kisses Rachel's arm. "You'd like that."

"It would make me feel better," Rachel shrugs.

Quinn doesn't doubt it. They're stuck now, with Rachel on the couch and Quinn on the floor, Benjamin asleep in a blanket and a mess of plastic trains, and the heat is blasting and they're all idiots and all Quinn can do is laugh.

…

Quinn falls asleep eventually, with her head tipped back on Rachel's arm and her mouth wide open, her nose running, and she's prodded awake when Benjamin pushes on her shoulder and loudly whispers, "Mommy?"

Quinn rubs her face, finds that Rachel's eyes are still open and she's watching with a smile. Benjamin's standing at Quinn's side with dark, tangled hair and flushed cheeks and his dinosaur pillow clutched to his chest.

He holds it out proudly and says, "I brought you a pillow, mommy."

Quinn grins, says, "Oh, sweetheart," pulls him into a hug and ignores the painful twinge it sends up her back. She kisses his cheeks and he laughs and squirms away and stumbles backwards, falls on his butt.

He collects himself and says, "I'll get you…um…a blanket too, mommy. And a tissue."

Rachel snorts lightly and Quinn can feel her warm breath on the back of her neck. She rubs at her face again, at her raw nose, and calls, "Thank you, Benji," when her son goes thundering down the hallway.

"I called Jesse." Rachel informs, scratching at Quinn's head. "He's digging his car out so that he can come and take us to the hospital."

Quinn scoffs, insists, "I can take us to the hospital."

"You're stuck on the floor."

Quinn lolls her head sideways so that she can see Rachel's face. "You're stuck on the couch," she retorts, fails to smother her smile, "because you were pretending to be a horse."

"_Reindeer_," Rachel corrects with a loud laugh.

She pokes at the back of Quinn's neck, scratches lightly, and Quinn glances at the fading light outside and then at the time on the cable box. She groans, "I need to make dinner," and Rachel chuckles because she's not exactly putting in much effort to do so.

Rachel assures, "We'll figure it out later, baby."

Benjamin comes running back into the room with about twelve feet of toilet paper in one hand and his fleecy Scooby Doo blanket in the other. Quinn shifts to help him drape the blanket over her lap, but he sternly says, "No, hold still," and she pulls back while Rachel laughs in her ear.

"Hold still, mommy," Rachel chastises, "He's got it under control."

Benjamin settles the blanket over her, steps on Quinn's toes and falls into her lap twice, and then hands her the big ball of toilet paper and requests, "Blow your nose, mommy."

"Let's roll this up, shall we?" Quinn says, wrapping the toilet paper around one of her hands.

Rachel watches Benjamin and says, "Nothing for me, Benji?"

He stills and looks up at her, stricken, like he can't believe he's forgotten. He clasps both hands over his mouth and then puts them on the top of his head and asks, "What do you need?"

"Mama needs a gin and tonic," Quinn says wryly, frowning at her toilet paper roll.

Benjamin looks confused, conflicted, and Rachel shakes her head and drags her hand over Quinn's mouth, pats her cheek, and says, "How about a juice box, Benji?"

Benjamin nods eagerly and rockets off towards the kitchen, slips a little in his socks.

Quinn tilts her head back and stares at Rachel, complains, "I need something stronger than a juice box."

Rachel frowns, shakes her head. "The juice box is for me, not you."

Quinn sighs heavily, and she's sore and achy and her back cracks with every movement she makes. There's a large, purple, blotchy bruise forming where her arm had been jammed into the iron handrail outside, and she impulsively lifts up her sweater and extracts her arm to show Rachel.

Rachel's expression shifts from amusement at Quinn's exhausted antics and polka dot bra to near horror at the size of the bruise near her elbow.

"What did you _do_?" she gasps, tracing it with her fingertips.

Quinn rolls her eyes, says, "I fell on my ass, remember?"

Rachel is quiet and Quinn nearly regrets showing her. She was just looking for pity and somebody to bring her a juice box or something to eat or anything in the world to get her off the floor. But Rachel just looks sad, of course, because Quinn's injuries are dangerous, and they're fragile and volatile and always serious.

Quinn grins and grips Rachel's hand, kisses her palm and all the way up to her elbow, and then makes rude gestures out of Rachel's fingers until Rachel laughs.

Benjamin runs back into the living room with a juice box in each hand and a block of cheese under his arm, the lowest and easiest item to reach in the refrigerator.

He hands Rachel her juice box and then offers one to Quinn and says, "In case you want one too, mommy. It's blue."

"Thank you so much, sweetheart," Rachel says, accepts the cheese he holds out for her.

Quinn wraps her arms around him and squeezes, tickles until he shrieks and falls into her lap and his dark hair sticks up and flops around and he laughs so loudly that he's just like Rachel. Quinn holds him for an extra moment, blows a raspberry against his neck even though her back pops about twelve times when she leans forward.

"Mama, help!" Benjamin laughs, pushing at Quinn's cheeks.

"Help?" Rachel says, peers over the edge of the couch, wide-eyed. "You need my help?"

She drops a hand down and tickles under his arm, laughs at his red face and bright eyes. She says, "Help like this?"

"No!" Benjamin says, squirming, "I meant—save—help me, mama!"

Rachel gasps, "Oh, save you from mommy!"

She wraps an arm around Quinn's head then, ruffles her hair, kisses her cheek. Quinn slows her tickling, distracted, and Rachel captures her lips as soon as she turns her head. It's only a second before Quinn squirms away, but it's enough for Benjamin to roll out of her lap and scramble to the middle of the living room.

He trips when he's there, lands with a thud on the rug and continuous laughter.

Rachel presses her lips right against Quinn's ear and whispers, "Quinn."

She's still clutching the block of cheese in one hand, dangling it off the edge of the couch, and Quinn throws a hand back and lightly slaps Rachel's thigh, says, "Eat your cheese, Rachel."

"I have to pee," Rachel whines, and Quinn twists and looks at her to make sure she's not joking.

Quinn's wondering about carrying Rachel to the bathroom—everything that could go wrong—when she hears their front door open. Jesse stomps in loudly and Benjamin races to the entryway to greet him, and, "Hey Benny! Where are the cripples?" is heard a moment later.

Quinn rolls her eyes and tips her head back, smiles when Rachel kisses her forehead.

Jesse appears in the living room with Benjamin on his hip, red-faced and layered up and smirking, and Rachel points a finger at him and requests, "Don't."

"Maybe it's time for Life Alert," he says, laughing, "We have to protect those hips."

Quinn scowls. She crosses her arms unhappily and Rachel drags a warm hand over her forehead, tugs on her ear and says, "I'm bringing our block of cheese to the hospital with us," and Quinn snorts a laugh.

Jesse takes Benjamin upstairs to get dressed and Rachel stabs her straw into her juice box, gets grape droplets in Quinn's hair. Quinn turns to her, and she's surrounded by pillows and blankets and she's all cozy from sitting in the same place for hours, and she smiles at Rachel and says, "I think today was actually a good day."

"Me too, baby." Rachel replies, pats Quinn's head. "And also there's grape juice in your hair."


End file.
